On July 4th, 2006, I embarked on a quest to become the pre-eminent American portrait painter of the 21st century. This blog chronicles that journey. With apologies to Joan Didion, I call it THE YEAR OF MAGICAL PAINTING.

Friday, June 27, 2014

Jürgen Klinsmann is correct

We are not going to win the World Cup. We suck.

He also doesn't have an umlaut in his first name, but I'm in love with the whole business of what happens when you push the U key down and hold it until the little umlaut menu pops up. You then release the key and type 2 and voila -- you get this: Ü

Which, in addition to being a typographical event is its own little emoticon. So I will continue to do so.

Ü

He was also right about something else, and I wish I'd said what I was thinking (that being that I like the guy quite a bit) in a more timely manner so that it didn't appear that I was jumping on the Klinsmann bandwagon after he started winning. But his decision to leave Landon Donovan off the squad has not created the horrific outcome that so many predicted. And I can promise you that at least 99% of those running around holding their heads screaming that the sky was falling know vastly less about soccer than Mr. Klinsmann does.

Shit happens. You get old. Young guys need playing time. The absence of Donovan hasn't been the problem. The problem, says I -- someone who knows way less about soccer than my boy Jürgen -- is that Jozy Altidore is hurt and Michael Bradley is playing way below a reasonable expectation.

And yet lo, after all this, we play Belgium on Tuesday in the Round of 16.

Me? I've been to Belgium many times and am, in fact, extremely fond of the place. The food is fabulous. Better than France, many say. The women are beautiful. At least some of them are, but isn't that always the way? The men are mostly modest physical specimens, often wearing wispy beards, almost always wearing dark green houndstooth blazers, brown trousers and what appear to be Wallabees. They couldn't be more pleasant as a general group, but none appear to be the least bit athletic. I can't believe that the boys of summer can't beat the hell out of them.